


Drabble Collection 01

by triste



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Genderswap, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America takes care of England's problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabble Collection 01

[America/England - Simple Solution]

There was something wrong with England. America watched him curiously from the other side of the room as he hunched in on himself, one arm clutching his sides, the other curled around the back of the chair he was sitting in, his fingers digging into the fabric.

Concerned (though he’d never admit it), America excused himself from the conversation he’d been having with Lithuania and went over to where England was, tapping him on the arm to get his attention.

“Hey.”

England’s head snapped up immediately, face flushed, brow damp, eyes bright and feverish.

“Uh,” America said, perturbed by the way England was staring at him. “You’re acting weird.”

England’s grip tightened on the chair. He managed to grunt out the words “France”, “drugged” and “tea” through clenched teeth before doubling over again. He looked like he was in pain. Which, America supposed, he was, due to whatever their host had spiked his drink with.

“You want me to call a doctor?”

England shook his head, mouthing something America couldn’t quite hear.

“What is it?” he asked, leaning in closer.

“I want,” England kept saying, his shoulders shaking from the effort of forcing out coherent speech, “I want, I want...”

“Okay, now you’re worrying me,” America confessed. “Come on. Pull yourself together.”

But England was getting more and more agitated, his breathing heavy and laboured. His lips moved wordlessly. He appeared to be repeating the same word over and over. America reached out and tugged England away from the chair. England’s legs nearly gave out on him but America caught him just in time, steadying him with an arm around his waist. He led England away from the party and outside into the cool night air, hoping it would help bring him to somewhat. England’s face was lowered, hidden by shadow.

“This is crazy,” America sighed. “What the hell did France slip you?”

England answered physically rather than verbally, his hands moving to America’s waist.

“You’re kind of close,” America told him, alarmed. “*Too* close, actually.”

England wasn’t listening. He stepped in closer still, until his forehead was resting on America’s shoulder.

“Um, England? What are you–”

England cut America off by canting his hips, rubbing against America and letting him feel for himself what the problem was. America didn’t know whether to widen his eyes or roll them. Trust France to use aphrodisiac as his drug of choice.

“Just so you know,” America said, “humping someone without their consent is enough to count as sexual harassment.”

“I can’t help it,” England gasped, his words muffled against America’s shoulder. “It’s all–” he jerked his hips again, groaning “–that wine bastard’s–” his breathing hitched “–fault.”

“And what do you expect me to do about it?”

England didn’t reply. The only word he seemed capable of forming anymore was “please”, which he managed to get out repeatedly between little moans and whimpers.

“Please, America,” he panted. “Please please please...”

America smirked. England was desperate. He was begging, even. America kind of liked it.

“You want me to help you?” he said, tilting England’s chin up so he could look at him. “You want me to make it better?”

England nodded eagerly, his expression hopeful.

“Leave it to me. I know exactly how to deal with this.”

America lifted England into his arms with ease. It didn't take much effort to carry him to the nearest bathroom, even with England’s restless squirming.

“We’re here,” America announced.

Without further ado, he dumped England into the shower stall. England, understandably, looked confused, at least until America turned on the cold water spray.

“There,” he said. “That ought to take care of it. What a simple solution."

America had helped, as promised. England was perfectly capable of handling the rest, if the way he howled curses after America when he left was anything to go by.

~~

[Denmark/England - Other Uses]

England was suspicious by nature. He complained about pretty much everything. He was never happy, ever. Denmark couldn’t understand it. His easygoing optimism was a stark contrast with England’s tendency to always expect the worst-case scenario (and then be disappointed when it didn’t happen). It made flirting with him somewhat difficult.

Subtlety wasn’t Denmark’s forte, as Norway would readily attest to. Denmark refused to accept this as his fault (he was far too busy listening to the sound of his own awesome). It was just that subtlety (and to a lesser extent, sarcasm) went straight over his head.

And so, that left him to take a more direct approach. Denmark liked getting straight to the point. He liked speaking his mind. It was good to be upfront. It made misunderstandings easily avoidable. Unlike England, Denmark always said what he meant. That was why, bored and horny, he decided to try out his own particular form of flattery.

“You’re looking really hot today,” he said.

England narrowed his eyes. “Are you taking the piss?”

“I was being completely sincere!” It was the truth. Denmark just had to make England believe him.

“And why are you telling me this?” England asked, still mistrustful.

“Because I need a shag,” Denmark replied honestly.

“That’s not my concern.” England was starting to sound irked, but it wasn’t enough to put Denmark off. Anyway, England was blushing. He had to be at least a little bit embarrassed. Repressed people usually were when it came to discussing sex openly. It was another thing Denmark didn’t get.

“But you want to get laid too, right?” Denmark pressed. “How long has it been since you last slept with someone? Months? Decades? Centuries?” England’s blush deepened. “Oh my god, it’s like you’re a virgin all over again! Do you even remember what it’s like to be touched by another person?”

“Of course I do,” England said testily. “I’m not exactly senile!”

Try as he might, Denmark couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to spend so many years in celibacy. No wonder England drank as much as he did. It was probably one of the only things he had left to enjoy. What on earth did England do with himself these days? There was only so much baking and embroidering a person could use to pass the time with. Denmark was sure England never used to be this boring.

That was when Denmark made his decision. It was his husbandly duty to make England less dull, but more importantly, he had to remind England that there were far more interesting and satisfying things in life than cookery and needlework. Denmark didn’t mind that England was out of practise. He was perfectly willing to give him a refresher course in how to please one’s partner. England, however, seemed cautious.

“Stop grinning,” he said. “It’s disturbing.”

“It’s me being happy,” Denmark corrected. “I can’t help it if it shows on my face. That’s what happens when I’m in a good mood. I smile. You should try it. It’ll make you feel better.”

There were other things that he could think of to sweeten England’s perpetually sour mood, but Denmark didn’t give voice to any of them just yet. One step at a time, he reminded himself. That was the best way to go.

First came kissing. Denmark would have preferred it if England’s expression had been anticipatory rather than cautious, but then he knew it would take some persuading before England accepted his advances.

“Hey, don’t worry,” Denmark said confidently, noting the way England’s lips remained stubbornly turned downward. “I’ll go easy on you.”

England looked like he was about to headbutt him. Denmark hadn’t meant what he’d told England to be an insult, but that was how England took nearly everything. He really needed to be more trusting. Denmark supposed he couldn’t blame him. A lot had happened. Still, there was one thing that hadn’t changed. Denmark was, and always had been, amazing in bed, or so he liked to believe. He was positive England’s demeanour would change once he remembered this fact.

Denmark leaned in closer until their mouths were only millimetres apart, only for England to jerk back suddenly before they could meet.

“Wait,” he said, his expression uncomfortable. “I need a drink.”

“Oh no you don’t.”

Denmark grabbed his tie and yanked him in for a kiss, England making a muffled noise of surprise. He resisted initially, his fingers digging almost painfully into Denmark’s shoulders, but then he began to relax little by little under the gentle pressure of Denmark’s mouth, opening up to him just enough for Denmark’s tongue to slip inside.

“See?” Denmark told him afterwards, his grin returning full force at the way England’s cheeks were tinged with red. “That wasn’t so bad. What were you nervous for?”

England avoided Denmark’s gaze, obviously unwilling to provide an answer. Not that Denmark had been expecting one. It was cute. Denmark liked cute things. He also liked kissing. England probably did too. He’d simply forgotten how much. Indeed, their next kiss was clumsier than the ones they’d shared in the past, as England became more of a willing participant, but it didn’t take him long to start getting the hang of it again.

England’s previously uncomfortable expression made a reappearance when he was lifted off his side of the sofa and into Denmark’s lap, but Denmark proceeded to reassure him by moving onto the second stage, touching.

“Are you sure?” England asked, shifting awkwardly as Denmark untucked his shirt from his trousers. “Shouldn’t we go somewhere more... appropriate?”

“Here is fine,” Denmark replied, slipping his fingers underneath England’s shirt and running them up along his spine. “Besides, you’re hardly heavy.” Not that he would have complained about it even if England were. It felt good to have England straddling him like this. Denmark just wished he wouldn’t keep looking so insecure. “It’s not a joke. I’m not doing this to have you on.”

“I know that,” England said irritably, but he didn’t sound too convinced.

Denmark wondered if maybe he should have allowed England to have a drink after all. No, he thought. That wouldn’t have been accomplished anything. In any case, there was something definitely wrong if a person couldn’t have sex while they were sober.

England wouldn’t hide. Denmark refused to let him.

That was why he set about undressing himself, starting by shrugging out of his tee shirt. “Behold my awesome body,” he bragged, flexing his muscles. “Feel free to throw yourself at it. Don’t be so reserved. There’s no need to hold back.”

“Twat,” England snorted, pretending to be annoyed when clearly he wasn’t.

This, to Denmark, was what sex was all about. It was supposed to be fun and, well, *sexy*. And messy. If it wasn’t messy, you weren’t doing it right.

“Come on,” he said seductively, fluttering his eyelashes. “Let’s get sticky together.”

That got a laugh out of England. It was something Denmark hadn’t heard in what felt like forever. England never smiled the way he used to. He hardly ever laughed anymore, not unless he was having fun at someone else’s expense (usually France’s).

The tension had melted away. England’s hands, capable and more confident than they had been the last time they’d touched Denmark, slid over Denmark’s chest, tracing over skin and muscle and bone.

That was more like it. Slowly, surely, England was starting to get into the spirit of things. Denmark approved completely. A little encouragement went a long way. The ability to be both charming and enthusiastic helped. He really was irresistible. No wonder England had succumbed to him so easily.

Unfortunately, Denmark’s inner congratulating hadn’t gone unnoticed by England. The smug expression had probably given him away. Denmark never felt the need to hide any of his emotions. He’d never seen the point.

“What are you thinking?” England asked. He was practically radiating suspicion.

“I was thinking how brilliant I am,” Denmark told him. “And that I can’t wait to get into your pants.”

England rolled his eyes. “I should have known. It’s not like anything else ever goes through that head of yours.”

There were plenty of other things that went through Denmark’s head, but right now he was fixated on just one. As much as England seemed to enjoy it, he was in no mood for arguing.

His mouth had other uses.

~~

[Denmark/England/Prussia - Distraction]

 

Drinking to excess was bad. Even drinking in moderation wasn’t particularly helpful, England’s ridiculously low tolerance for alcohol considered, and yet still he insisted on doing it anyway. Waking up in someone else’s bed and having unwittingly acquired yet another husband were just two of the reasons England kept promising (and failing) to abstain, but it was easier said than done.

England could vaguely remember arguing with America over something. America was usually his reason for drinking. It wasn’t like England could even enjoy it anymore. The only reason he drank these days was to drown his sorrows, of which he had many (most of them involving America). He used to drink for fun, for socialising, for celebrating, once upon a time. He used to be a happy drunk, but somewhere along the way he’d turned into a miserable one.

It was all America’s fault. Everything was. England liked the convenience of being able to blame him for everything. Because of America being... well, America, England had gone out to get plastered. Because of America, he’d passed out after his fourth pint. Because of America, he’d woken up in someone’s lap, though he had absolutely no memory of getting there.

It wasn’t just anyone’s lap. It was Denmark’s.

He tried to sit up but his limbs were heavy and not working properly. In any case, moving made him feel dizzy. It was probably better to stay still for a while, if only to stave off the inevitable hangover.

“Finally awake, huh?” Denmark said casually, one arm slung low across England’s waist. “Prussia owes me money. He bet you’d be out cold for the rest of the night.”

England frowned. Prussia? What did he have to do with anything? But then England remembered calling him, and Prussia calling Denmark, and both of them heading over to Denmark’s house on a mission to get drunk off their arses.

Now that he thought about it, England could vaguely recall Prussia saying something about a much-needed reunion for the three fail bros, as he’d nicknamed them. Denmark hadn’t exactly complained. Then again, he did seem to spend more time drunk than sober. He was also generous enough to share, not that England had been able to consume that much. Just looking at the amount of empty cans surrounding Prussia was enough to make England’s head spin.

He was currently talking on his cell phone and sounding remarkably coherent from what England could hear, but Prussia’s conversation was soon cut short. “The jerk hung up on me,” he said, insulted. “I don’t get it. I only asked him what he was wearing.”

“Spam his voicemail with annoying messages,” Denmark suggested. “That’ll piss him off.”

Prussia smirked in approval. Then he noticed England. “Awake already? That’s a surprise. I thought for sure you’d be unconscious until morning. I’ll pay you later,” he added, nodding in Denmark’s direction. “In the meantime, I’ve got some epic spamming to do. Switzerland is going to pay for putting the phone down on someone as awesome as me before I could finish what I was saying. That’s like premature ejaculation, man. In other words, it’s not cool.”

Denmark snickered. Prussia didn’t need any encouragement. He was already leaving his first message for Switzerland, one that went into explicit detail about all the things he’d like to do to Switzerland’s cock. England was starting to feel uncomfortable, and not just from listening in on Prussia’s dirty talk. He made a second attempt at sitting up but Denmark’s arm kept him firmly in place.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Denmark asked.

“Bed,” England replied, struggling half-heartedly. “Home. Anywhere. I don’t know.”

“Stay,” Denmark ordered, not that England could have got away from him anyway. “Here.” He brought the bottle he’d been drinking from to England’s lips. “Hair of the dog. Best way to cure any hangover.”

England had learnt from many past experiences that it really wasn’t, but Denmark was being so insistent that he drank anyway. It kept him quiet and prevented him from accidentally spilling any of the alcohol on England’s rumpled, but otherwise spotless shirt. He nearly choked when Denmark’s hand wandered down to his backside. Squirming indignantly wasn’t quite the deterrent England had been hoping for. It only made Denmark give his arse a leisurely squeeze.

“What on earth are you doing?” he snapped.

“I’m groping you, of course.” Denmark gave another squeeze for emphasis. “You don’t like it?”

It wasn’t that. England was still light-headed, and Denmark only made it worse when he slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of England’s trousers to get at his bare skin. His touch was as possessive as England remembered it, but then Denmark had always been like that. It pissed him off more than he cared to admit.

And maybe turned him on a little.

England squirmed again. Everything about Denmark was distracting him, his hands, the proximity of his body, the heat of his breath. It was making him hard.

Prussia was leering at them. England could feel Denmark’s answering grin against his neck. Prussia spread his legs and slid a palm down over his crotch, rubbing it idly as he continued to inform Switzerland’s voicemail how many positions he wanted to fuck him in.

“Horny bastard,” Denmark said, his grin widening. The accusation was hardly fair. In England’s opinion, it was a case of pot calling the kettle black.

“You’re the one who put him up to it,” he huffed.

“I told him to leave annoying messages. I never said anything about being filthy.”

To Prussia, there probably wasn’t much of a difference. Denmark didn’t seem too concerned about it either, but he was rather preoccupied as he tilted England’s face for a kiss. He tasted of the alcohol he’d been drinking, hot and heady. It left England breathless. Denmark’s expression was smug when he drew back, his eyes half-lidded and lazy. He was as sexy as he was irritating, and England could only scowl at him sullenly. Denmark kissed him again, deeper this time, until England was moaning into his mouth. His fingers were still moving, still sliding down lower over and between the curve of England’s arse, pressing against him, but not into him, just teasing.

“Fuck,” he groaned, fumbling with the buckle of his belt. “Stop playing around, you twat. If you’re going to do this, do it properly.”

Prussia gave them the thumbs up sign from across the room with one hand, the other still fondling his cock through his trousers. Denmark was quick to notice where England’s gaze had gone.

“I bet you want to suck him off, don’t you?” he murmured, England shivering at the sound of his voice so close to his ear. “But he’ll have to wait. It’s my turn first.”

“What about me?” England said, petulant.

“Don’t worry,” Denmark told him, his teeth sharp and insistent against England’s earlobe. “I have plans for you.”

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all, getting drunk. England had found himself in much worse situations. This was definitely one of the better ones. At least he was sure to get something good out of it.

~~

[Hong Kong/England - Fond Farewell]

England has fallen asleep with the light on again. He does that sometimes, nodding off when he’s been reading. The book lays open on his chest, rising and falling with every deep and even breath he takes. Hong Kong picks it up carefully, sets it on the bedside table. He’s about to turn the lamp off when England stirs, turning onto his side.

Hong Kong kneels down next to the bed. For a while he just watches England, takes in the sight of the face that’s so familiar to him. He’ll be leaving tomorrow. He’s not sure when he’ll see England again. He’s not sure he wants to go.

He hesitates, reaches out and takes England’s hand in his. It’s the same hand that once seemed to large and strong to him as a child, that now looks so small and slender. England’s fingers twitch and curl around Hong Kong’s reflexively. Hong Kong squeezes gently back, lifts England’s hand to his lips and kisses it. He feels like one of the princes in the fairytales England used to read to him, the kind of stories that always began with ‘once upon a time’ and ended with ‘happily ever after’.

Hong Kong wonders if his ending will be a happy one. He doesn’t want to think about what the future might bring. Not now. Not tonight.

Hong Kong has memories, lots of them. He remembers learning his letters, fireworks at festivals, taking tea in the garden, England’s pride and joy. Hong Kong has always liked England’s garden. It’s green and pleasant, like his country, like his eyes.

Those same eyes flutter open and focus on Hong Kong, widening a little in surprise before crinkling at the corners as he smiles. England doesn’t smile too often. He’s rarely this open and unguarded.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Can’t sleep?”

Hong Kong nods wordlessly. England lifts the sheets, moving over to make room.

“Get in.”

Hong Kong does as he’s told. He always has.

It won’t be for much longer, he reminds himself. Soon he won’t be England’s little brother anymore. He wonders how England feels about that. He still hasn’t quite figured out his own feelings yet.

For now, he concentrates on other things inside, like the warmth of England’s body, his scent, his face.

“Have I changed?” he says, voice quiet. He doesn’t feel too different. Will China even recognise him as the person he once was?

“Everyone changes,” England replies. “Nothing stays the same.”

It’s true, Hong Kong supposes. He’ll still be able to visit England whenever he likes. It just won’t be the same as it once was.

“Are you worried?” England knows him well. Too well, in fact. Hong Kong likes that nobody else can tell what he’s thinking, but England always sees right through him.

“Apprehensive,” he admits.

It’s better to be honest where England is concerned. It’s better for Hong Kong to speak his mind without any regrets. Their relationship will change. They themselves will change. It’s only natural, after all.

The thought makes Hong Kong look at England in a different light. It makes him want to do something he’s never done before.

“I want to kiss you,” he says suddenly. He can’t predict how England will react. He doesn’t know what his response will be. The only thing he does know is that any feelings he currently holds for England are far stronger than the ones he holds for China.

The excitement and the nervousness melt into one another, makes his heart beat faster in anticipation.

“All right,” England says.

It’s somewhat ironic that their first kiss is shared on their last night together. England’s lips are dry. His tongue darts out to moisten them afterwards, and it makes Hong Kong kiss him again. Their next kiss is not so chaste. It leaves them both breathless. It makes Hong Kong put his hands on England’s body, makes him want to kiss places other than England’s lips.

England doesn’t resist when Hong Kong undresses him. He simply returns the favour, unfastening the buttons on Hong Kong’s silk pyjamas one by one with sure and steady fingers. They’re red, of course. England has always liked him in red. It’s a fiery and passionate colour, so unlike the cool and calming green Hong Kong will forever associate with England.

Clothes no longer obscuring his view, Hong Kong commits the scene to memory. He runs his fingers freely through England’s fair hair, traces them hungrily over his pale skin. He tastes that skin with his mouth, coaxes sighs and moans from England’s throat.

In a reversal of roles, Hong Kong is the one who possesses England this time, and England allows it. It’s only for tonight, this one night, but Hong Kong will never forget the way England feels underneath him, so tight and hot around him, the way he sounds when he calls his name.

Hong Kong doesn’t think they’ll ever do this again no matter how much he might want to. It’s why their final kiss is so bittersweet and lingering, why Hong Kong is so reluctant to let their limbs untangle.

England smiles, soft and sad. He looks so lonely. He’s always lonely. It’s almost enough to make Hong Kong want to stay.

“Go to sleep,” England whispers.

Hong Kong closes his eyes obediently as England turns off the light.

~~

[Fem!France/fem!England - Doubt and Trust]

“Yoo hoo! Big sister has come to visit!”

Hearing that familiar voice call out made England blanch. It sounded like France had got bored and decided to annoy her again, as usual. She’d been having such a nice day. It was springtime, which meant sunshine and warmer weather. England had been busy picking flowers to make a crown for herself when France appeared.

Good mood ruined, she scowled at her visitor. “What do you want?”

“You’re as rude as ever,” France cooed. “Admit it. You get so lonely without me around.”

England blushed angrily. “I do not! I happen to like being on my own. It’s quieter.”

“But also much more boring.” France blinked, leaning in suddenly for a closer look. “Did you get taller while I was away? You look taller. Are you taller?”

England turned smug. “I’m a teenager now, you witless bint. I’ve grown loads since you last saw me.”

“Hmm.” France’s gaze travelled downward to rest on England’s chest. “You’re still as flat as ever here, though. How nostalgic. I remember mistaking you for a boy when we first met. If I didn’t know better, I could easily do the same thing now.”

England’s blush deepened. “Mind your own business, pervert! They’ll get bigger when they’re good and ready!”

France laughed her lady’s laugh, the high pitched and superior one that made England’s blood boil. “You poor little girl. How you must envy me and my fabulous figure.”

And with that she thrust her ample bosom in England’s face. Being as England was still much shorter than France in spite of having gained height recently, this put France’s impressive cleavage exactly at eye level.

“Put those away!” England scowled. “No matter how much you show off I’m not going to get jealous.”

“But it makes you feel self-conscious, right?” France said. “You wish you were as buxom as me, don’t you? You lie awake at night wondering when you’ll catch up, huh?”

England huffed. “I have better things to do,” she stated primly, not that she would ever admit to actually worrying about any of those things, of course. “And I *will* catch up someday. In fact, I plan on surpassing you altogether! That’s when I’ll invade you. I’ll beat you up and make you cry!”

France didn’t seem concerned in the slightest. She simply gave England a condescending pat on the head. “What large dreams you have for such a small nation. Well, good luck making them into a reality.”

“I’m serious!” England insisted. “You’d better believe me. If you leave your guard down, it’ll happen.”

“I’m sure it will.” France pinched England’s cheek, already bored with the conversation. “Ah, you’re still so soft and cute. It makes me want to hug you.”

“Don’t you dare,” England warned, scuttling away out of reach. “And don’t talk down to me! It won’t be much longer until I’m an adult!”

France cocked her head thoughtfully. “An adult, eh? So that means you’ll soon want to start doing adult things, yes? Big sister has so much to teach you, don’t you worry about that.” France’s gaze returned to England’s chest. “They’ll get bigger if you massage them, you know.”

“Really?” England’s surprise turned to wariness. “Wait, you’ve lied to me before. How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Try it,” France winked. “The results will speak for themselves.”

England remained cautious. “It really works?”

“I’m living proof, aren’t I?” France gave her breasts a little jiggle for emphasis.

England glanced down dubiously. “Maybe...” She still had doubts. She liked to think that she’d become wiser to France and her tricks. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She wasn’t as gullible as she used to be.

“Come here.” France beckoned. “Let big sister help. Now, take off all your clothes! Don’t be shy. Big sister will take hers off too!”

This wasn’t right, England thought. For some reason, she went through with it anyway. It wasn’t like France hadn’t seen her naked before. They’d bathed together in streams before when England had been younger. When England cast her mind back, she realised that she’d seen France without clothes more often than she had with them. Still, it was somewhat surreal to get undressed while France was watching. To her credit, France didn’t make any lewd jokes or stupid remarks. The silence was slightly disconcerting. After all, France just wasn’t France without the constant annoying and useless chatter.

“I don’t want you to look,” England said afterwards, crossing her arms over her chest and averting her gaze shyly. “It’s embarrassing.”

France surprised her once again by not making fun of England’s current state. Instead, she took a seat on the ground, motioning for England to sit in front of her. “Okay. We’ll do it like this.”

They sat so they were sitting with England’s back to France’s front. It wasn’t too bad, England conceded. It was certainly better than having France staring straight at her for what they were about to do.

“Are you ready?” France said, directing the words into England’s left ear and making her shiver.

“I suppose,” England replied, trying not to notice the goose bumps that had risen up on her bare arms. It was just the chill in the air, she told herself. It most definitely was not any kind of reaction to France and her proximity.

France slowly raised her hands, making her gasp when she placed them over her breasts. France’s fingers were warm and smooth as she began to rub. England’s nipples stiffened in response to the stimulation. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it did make her shiver again. Sitting this close to France caused England to notice many things. Her scent was one of them. She smelled of lavender. Shutting her eyes and breathing in too deeply caused England to feel dizzy.

On top of that, France’s hair was tickling her cheek and the side of her neck. Her breath tickled, too. She hummed something to herself as she worked. That was yet another area the two of them differed in, England thought. France’s voice was lower in pitch than hers, and far more sensual. England always sounded rough and uncultured in comparison, which France never failed to point out.

“What are you thinking?” France asked softly, making England jump.

“Nothing,” she lied.

“So your head is full of emptiness?”

“It’s full of grand ideas, you silly tart! Don’t put me on your level. I’m more intelligent than that.”

France just laughed and kissed England on the cheek. England squirmed indignantly, not liking the odd fluttering sensation low in her belly. It grew more insistent the longer France’s fingers remained on her breasts, thumbing her nipples and making her whole body tingle.

Was it supposed to feel like this, England wondered? She had to keep biting her lip to keep from gasping or making soft noises every time France touched her. It felt strange. More than that, it felt sort of... nice. It had to be because she wasn’t used to anyone being so tactile, she told herself. She didn’t do things like hugging or holding hands, partly because her siblings never even let her get close to their borders without firing warning arrows at her, but also because... well, it wasn’t the English way.

England shifted uncomfortably. She was starting to get wet and sticky down below. Rubbing her thighs together only made it worse.

“France,” she said, voice quiet and awkward. “Something’s weird.”

“Does it feel nice?” France asked.

“N-no!” England said, panicked. “Of course it doesn’t!”

“I see.” France kissed her again, this time on the lobe of her ear. “Then I must try harder.”

Try harder? What was that supposed to mean? England soon found out when France’s hands left her chest to move down to her legs, coaxing them apart and sliding between them.

“Don’t,” England gasped. France shushed her, pressed another kiss to her cheek. Then her fingertips were brushing against England’s wetness, teasing, but not quite pressing inside. England’s hips bucked, the sheer sensitivity almost too much to bear.

“I’ll make it good for you,” France murmured seductively. “I promise.”

England cried out when one of France’s fingers slipped inside. It was getting harder to breathe, harder to concentrate. Another finger joined the first, thrusting gently. England’s hips moved again, this time grinding down on those fingers. Her body seemed to know what it wanted even if the rest of her did not.

She moaned when France withdrew her fingers, wriggling impatiently at the loss of sensation. Her eyes widened in shock when France gave them an experimental lick before sucking them into her mouth, savouring the taste.

“What are you *doing*?” England gasped, thoroughly confused.

“Isn’t it obvious?” France’s fingers left her mouth with a subtle pop. “I’m enjoying myself. By the looks of things, so are you.”

England couldn’t respond; she was panting too hard. She felt hot all over, especially at the spot between her legs. Her own fingers twitched, aching to mimic what France had done earlier, but she didn’t dare.

“It’s okay,” France said. “Let me.”

And England did, trembling as France’s clever fingers snaked their way along her stomach. She knew what to expect this time, anticipated it even, but France did something else completely unexpected. Instead of letting her fingers dip back inside as England had wanted, she rubbed the bundle of nerves above England’s entrance. England moaned and jerked, one hand reaching out to catch France’s wrist. France immediately stopped.

“Too much?” she inquired.

England shook her head. “More,” she whispered, cringing a little at how shameless she sounded. Worse, she was beginning to regret not allowing France take her clothes off earlier. England felt too vulnerable being the only one naked. “I want more.”

“Then more you shall have.” France ran her the tip of her middle finger lightly over England’s clit. “Like this?”

“Harder,” England said, the word escaping her lips before she could stop it.

France increased the pressure, and England moaned. It got better still when France used the fingers of her free hand to slip back inside. England could feel herself contracting around them, her hips moving with increasing urgency. Something was building steadily, growing more and more intense. France kept murmuring words of encouragement into England’s ear, kissing and nipping at it until England tensed and shuddered in France’s embrace, overcome by sensation. Afterward, she could only lie there dazed as France stroked her stomach soothingly.

“Congratulations,” France said, the humour returning to her tone. “You just became an adult.”

“Eh?” England’s mind was still too foggy to really understand.

“I’ve invaded your vital regions,” France told her cheerfully. “England has been conquered! Oh, and I deceived you earlier, by the way. Massaging your breasts won’t make them bigger at all. It was a convenient excuse to grope you. You’re still so gullible. It’s very reassuring.”

Even with her reactions dulled, England could still move swiftly enough to turn around and shove her foot in France’s face. Unfortunately, she’d taken off her shoes along with her clothing, thus lessening the amount of damage she could deal.

“You... you...” England couldn’t even find a fitting insult, she was so angry. France was laughing hysterically, only ceasing when England wrapped her hands around her throat and tried to strangle her.

“All right, all right,” France wheezed, raising her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

But England wasn’t about to forgive her, not now, not ever. “Give me back my innocence!” she demanded.

“I’m afraid you can only move forward,” France said. “But don’t worry. I’ve started your education so I’ll finish it. It is my duty as your older sister. As mentioned before, I have plenty to teach you.”

“You’re not teaching me anything,” England sulked. “I won’t let you.”

“You did just now.”

“That doesn’t count!”

She would get her revenge, England vowed. Someday. One way or another.


End file.
